


Plan

by hdarchive



Series: What I Need [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: BadBoy!Blaine, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just doesn't care, and he'll ignore it all until it's over. That's his plan.</p><p>He breaks it three times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to post little bits of this here on AO3 until it's finished, and then maybe I'll post it over on tumblr! Hopefully sharing as I go will stop me from quitting so close to the end.

Well, McKinley sure isn’t Dalton.

It’s been two weeks since he got here and he’s still not sure if that’s a good thing.

At least the kids at Dalton weren’t complete idiots. Uptight, presumptuous and annoying, sure, but at least they all had brains and used them. He thinks that maybe this school is where failed laboratory experiments go to try and live a normal life.

He knows how to adapt though, because he’s kinda had to, because how else do you even live? If he actually let himself be bothered by anything, if he gave himself time to care, then he wouldn’t get anywhere. So yeah, this school sucks seven kinds of ass but it’s only a few more months until graduation, he’ll just have to tough it out, block it out, and get through it.

He likes to think he’s used to his parents fighting all the time, but really, he hasn’t had to deal with it since he was ten. They sent him away to boarding school before he even knew what divorce was. He likes to think he’s tough enough now, at age seventeen, but hearing them go at it over the phone all night long is enough to make even him want to behave, just a little. So he can’t get kicked out of this school, because he’s not sure how he’d handle the humiliation of being expelled from public school too.

Plus, he doesn’t want to give them any more reasons to fight.

He’s got his plan, and two weeks in, sticking to it isn’t that hard.

Don’t look down, don’t look to the side, just keep looking forward and ignore them all, because none of them matter.

Dalton however, didn’t have football players like this school does. The athletes there were more competitive with each other, trying to be the best in the school. The athletes here . . . well, he wouldn’t call them athletes, but more so elitist orangutans. Ignoring them is a bit harder, because they’re just so fucking obnoxious when they have no right to be, and he automatically hates them for it. He especially hates it when they think they have the right to talk down to him, like they actually know who he is, but they don’t.

He’s broken his plan a few times, just so he could tell them where to stick their heads.

Other than that it’s fine, really. Just a few more months . . .

-

By week three he’s got it down.

He doesn’t care enough to learn anybody’s names, but it’s pretty easy to tell who’s who and where they sit in the hierarchy of McKinley. There’s the football players and the Cheerios and everyone underneath them.

And then there’s the glee club.

He’s watched from a distance as a few of them have had slushies thrown in their face - which is an act so barbaric he’s surprised the police haven’t been brought in yet. He supposes they have it coming though, especially the little one, because she’s in like three of his classes and she never shuts up.

The tall one, too. He’s a football player _and_ in the glee club and seems to think this makes him a superhero of sorts, so when he gets slushied Blaine kinda laughs at him.

He’s not really sure why everybody hates them though, because all they do is sing. Which is lame, yeah, but it’s not on his list of reasons as to why he should torture somebody.

-

Santana Lopez is a name he’s been forced to learn because of how often he’s had to talk to her. He wasn’t sure how to respond when she came up to him one day and said, _‘Either you tell me your sad little backstory, or I’ll have it discovered by tomorrow. And then so will the whole school.’_

He was well aware that McKinley is just gossip mill in disguise, he just had no idea he’d be a topic of discussion. But according to Santana Lopez, he’s a school favourite.

He of course didn’t tell her anything, because there’s nothing really to tell. So it wasn’t much of a shock to come to school the next day and hear a rumour that he’s an escaped convict who’s guilty of stabbing his brother.

Oh, and a rumour that he ‘totally tried to do it with her’ in the janitor’s closet.

But like all rumours, he knows these will fade.

He hopes.

-

“Yo, new guy.”

He stops in the middle of the hallway and turns around, already scowling. “Yeah?”

It’s the guy with the mohawk - Puckerman, who’s apparently been to juvie five times since he was seven. Blaine only knows his name because they’ve had detention together - and the football guy, Finn, each of them standing in front of him, blocking his way out.

“We just wanna know if that rumour’s true or not,” Puck says, arms crossed and grin fixed smugly across his face. “Did you really do it with Lopez?”

His eyes physically ache from how often he’s had to roll them the past week, and he sighs, “I’ll let you use your brain on that one.”

Puck grabs his shoulder and Blaine quickly shrugs it off, but doesn’t move any further than that.

“Hey no, seriously. Because word on the street is that she doesn’t swing your way, so we just wanna know how you did it.”

He’s done scowling, he might never be able to scowl again, because he feels his whole face raise in disbelief, eyebrows up and eyes widening, but he takes a breath and settles down, somehow able to scoff and then laugh.

“I didn’t do anything. I don’t swing her way either, so don’t worry about it.”

He tries to move on, stepping past them, but Puck grabs at his elbow and pulls him back and something in his heart stutters and then stops and stays that way, freezing over, freezing his entire body. He stares back at Puck with his mouth shut, jaw hard and eyes cold.

Puck and Finn share a look, but Blaine can’t figure out what it means because all he can think of is how to get out and away from them.

“So you’re gay?” Puck asks, sounding shocked but not angry, like he expects.

He shrugs his arm again, more violent this time, freeing himself from Puck’s grip. “Yeah, looks that way.”

“That’s cool, dude,” Finn cuts in, standing up straighter, smile filtering in. “My brother’s gay.”

“Good for your brother. Can I go now?”

He feels bad about the look Finn makes, but that quickly diminishes when Puck steps closer to him, face shading over red.

“You know, you shouldn’t talk to us like that. We’re the good guys here. The other guys will kick your ass once they find out.”

It’s times like these where it proves especially difficult to stick to his plan.

God, if he could just keep his mouth shut then he’d never have a problem, ever. If he could just ignore what he feels the way he so wants to, he’d be just fine.

“No offense,” he says, calm despite his quickening heartbeat. “But it’s kinda hard for me to take you seriously with that rat on your head.”

He takes a step back, away from Puck. Not afraid of him, not really, even though he’s a bit bigger, because Puck’s the kind of guy who’s foundation is built on twigs, so no matter how scary he looks, Blaine knows he isn’t.

“What’s your problem, man?” Puck shouts, tone accusing. “Nobody at this school knows anything about you because your foot is so far up your butt it’s stuck in your mouth.”

Blaine ignores it.

Finn seems to be more bothered by this than him, lips curling down and eyes flickering between the two of them, and he says a bit nervously, “Come on man, just leave him alone.”

“No!” Puck says, angrily, heated, sounding more like a growling puppy than a dog. “This wannabe punk thinks he’s better than us? Well I say we officially welcome him to McKinley the only way we know how and reclaim our spot at the top!”

The one thing he has to work on is his sense of flight, of when to leave, because something in him always wants to stay. He can pretend to be calm and try to ignore it, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy and that doesn’t mean it comes natural.

He smirks, rolls his eyes and stands a bit taller, says a bit confusedly, “Was there ever a time _you_ were at the top?”

He’s proud of himself for not even jolting when Puck lunges forward.

“That’s it!”

He stands still as stone, which surprises him because his heart is racing so fast it feels like it’s going to shatter his rib cage, and when Puck collides into him all he does is push him back, as hard as he can.

Except Puck doesn’t give up, just like a goddamn puppy, yelping and yapping and jumping for attention, trying to push at Blaine again.

Finn cuts in this time, yelling above the two of them, “Stop! Just -”

But in moments like these, where there’s a chance of being hurt, a chance of losing, Blaine just doesn’t care. He only has a small percentage of rationality left in his brain anyway, and he knows it’s gone now, can’t even tell what’s right or what’s wrong all he knows is that he has to protect himself.

So he shoves Finn too, shoves him so hard and so fast Finn stumbles back, and it hurts him a little, muscles shaking.

“You three! Halt!”

Before the mess can unravel any further, there’s a sharp voice and loud footsteps and a hand on his shoulder. He spins too fast and too afraid, ready to push and fight some more, but it’s not Finn or Puck or any other student.

It’s that stupid cheerleader coach, and everything in him freezes.

Her bony pale hand curls tighter into his jacket, yanking him back, and Puck lowers his head down and Finn raises both arms in the air.

“I do apologize for breaking up whatever orgy was about to take place on school property, but I need to know who’s responsible for this,” she hisses, hand traveling along Blaine’s upper-back until she’s grabbing at the back of his jacket collar. “And I’m going to follow my gut and say it’s little Danny Zuko here. Come on. Let’s go.”

She yanks at him harder, and he splutters, thrashes his arms until she lets go of him. “That’s not fair! You didn’t even - they started it!”

She doesn’t even look at him, pushing at his back and pointing down the hall. “Save it. Unless it’s, _‘Sue Sylvester, you do share a striking resemblance with Kim Kardashian!’_ I don’t want to hear a word,” she says, pointed finger jabbing at his back. “The rest of you, beat it.”

-

Sue’s office smells like rubber and sweat and something metallicy, something not right. It also looks like the insides of a locker.

He sits in the chair, slouched over and eyes burning holes in the desk, unable to look up at her or else he’ll see red.

“So, Blaine Anderson,” Sue announces after a few moments of silence, and Blaine raises his head a little to see what she’s looking at, a folder spread out across her desk. “Says here you were a prep school boy. Can’t say I’m surprised. It’s always the uniformed ones that turn out to be freaks.”

He sighs, crosses his arms tighter and rolls his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I know you’re not the principal. You can’t do anything to me. This isn’t even a real office, is it?”

Her glare is almost like a physical punch to the face, he can feel it even with his eyes anywhere but her, but he ignores it and continues to look unimpressed, because he is. It’s not the first time he’s been wrongly accused of something, not the first time an idiot teacher has tried to get him in trouble.

“So,” Sue drawls, fingers tapping along her desk. “Not a fan of Hudson and Co, are you?”

He shrugs. “Not a fan of anything in this school.”

“Ah, typical teenage angst. I became immune to that in the womb.” She stands and moves around her desk, sitting on the front edge of it and crossing her arms, perhaps to mimic him. “Well, I may not be your principal, Mr. Blaine Devon Anderson, but I am a school official.”

“So?” he scoffs, mouth twitching to one side, eyes full of disgust.

“ _So_ , to save you yet _another_ school transfer, I’ll cut you a deal. Glee club or bust.”

He drops his shoulders, his head, stares dead straight at Sue and doesn’t bat an eyelash, doesn’t breathe.

“What?”

Sue smiles and there’s no joy in it, not a trace of happiness, and it’s the scariest thing he’s ever seen.

“Join the merry band of singing weirdos,” Sue says, almost singing herself. “Or face permanent suspension from William McKinley High.”

He’s used to unfairness. Of course he is. His whole life has kinda been one big show of unfairness, a marathon of sorts.

But it still shocks him.

Out of all the punishments she could deal out, of all the scenarios, this is what he gets? And if he had just stuck to the fucking plan and not said anything and kept his hands to himself and if he weren’t so fucking afraid in that one moment then he wouldn’t be here. None of it is his fault.

“You can’t do that!” he shouts, splutters, melting from his frozen posture and frozen state of being, springing back into panic-induced life.

“I’m not doing anything,” she says, holding up her hands, her tone of voice too high and sweet. “The choice is entirely up to you!”

“This isn’t -” He stands up, kicks the chair backwards and runs his fingers through his hair, because while he hates unfair situations, what he hates even more are situations he can’t get out of. He looks her in the eye and hopes she can feel the venom in his words as he spits, “Fuck you, Sue Sylvester.”

She only laughs, shrugging.

“You’ll fit right in.”

-

His first official day of glee club is the following Wednesday.

He dreads it all day.

He contemplates going home sick, or maybe just dropping out. There’s always online education, if he needs it. Not like he was going to do much after graduation anyways, right?

After going through his list of excuses to get out of it, to get out of school, he decides he just doesn’t care enough. So what? A month of sitting in the back of a room and watching a couple losers sing their guts out is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Sure it’s gonna be awful, but he’ll just have to endure it, just push through it.

Even with his courage, and his heart strong and his head up and face blank, he feels a beat of anxiety when he walks into the choir room and everyone goes silent.

“Alright everybody,” the teacher - Schuester, he teaches Spanish for some reason - announces, gesturing towards Blaine with both his arms. “We have a new student joining us today -”

But Blaine just walks past him, through the front row of kids with their slack-jawed faces, and finds an open seat in the back.

“. . . Blaine Anderson,” Mr. Schue finishes, a bit dejectedly.

A few more kids walk in, and Blaine nearly groans when Puckerman steps through the door, both of them making eye contact, and Blaine instantly scowls but Puck looks away, almost guiltily.

Puck comes up to him, eyes cast down and fingers clutching hard at the strap of his backpack, and he sounds like he’s trying to be tough as he says, “Dude, that’s my seat.”

Blaine looks up at him and smiles, eyebrows raised, and says, “Cool. I’m sitting here today.”

Luckily, Puck slinks away. And Blaine can breathe again.

They’re already in the middle of this week’s lesson, so Mr. Schue tells Blaine to just watch and follow along. Instead he pretends to fall asleep, eyes closed and hood pulled over his ears, to try and block as much sound as possible.

An hour or so later, and he’s almost free. That is until Mr. Schue asks him to stay behind a few minutes, so he can go over next week’s lesson ahead of time, to give Blaine a head start.

“Yeah, I’m sorry but I don’t really sing,” Blaine says, looking up from a list of songs and handing the paper back to Mr. Schue. “I can try and listen. No promises though.”

“Sorry Blaine, but you’re part of this club now. You have to put in the effort if you want to stay.”

“But I don’t want to stay.”

Mr. Schue shrugs, picking up his briefcase and stack of notes, smiling at Blaine and clapping him on the shoulder before turning to leave. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it soon enough. You can always ask Kurt to help you,” he says, pointing behind Blaine. “Have a good night, see you both tomorrow!”

Blaine turns around, a bit startled, because he wasn’t aware there was anybody else in the room, but standing a few feet behind him is another boy, who’s apparently named Kurt, and Blaine can’t believe he never noticed him before.

“Wait, Mr. Schuester!” Kurt calls out, distress lining his face. “I have to ask you -”

“Oh, right, sorry! We can discuss it tomorrow, I have to get to a staff meeting,” Mr. Schue says, smiling apologetically before quickly exiting the room.

They both stare after him, and Blaine makes a face, turning back around to the other boy, who looks like he’s just been kicked in the stomach.

“Is that how it usually goes?” Blaine asks, a bit baffled.

Kurt sighs and nods. “When it comes to me, yes.”

Blaine pulls his bag up higher, shoves his hands in his pockets and scoffs. “What a dick.”

Kurt shrugs, smile sad as it tugs to one side. “I’ve unfortunately gotten used to it.”

Kurt starts to leave, shoulders a bit more slumped than they were seconds ago, but Blaine trails after him, staring at his feet and wondering why this spark of curiosity is burning at his insides, wondering why he cares so much.

“Why?” he asks, incredulously.

Turning around, Kurt looks at him and frowns, like the answer is obvious and Blaine’s too dumb to get it, and his voice is a bit sad as he says, “Because being apart of all this is better than being alone.”

And Blaine laughs, loud and hard, head shaking. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.”

There’s a moment of prolonged silence, where Blaine suddenly feels awkward for laughing, and maybe that wasn’t as funny as he thought. But then Kurt looks back at him, and smiles a little. “It’s only your first day. You’ll see soon enough.”

He sighs, gives his head another shake and starts to walk away. “Kill me if I do,” he says, giving Kurt a half-smile as he passes him. “Later, Kurt.”

It’s not until he’s by himself in the hallways that he realizes he’s once again broken his plan.

**Author's Note:**

> (verse name is pending. I'm very indecisive)


End file.
